Fire and Brimstone
by raisedyoufromperdition
Summary: When a group of fellow survivors takes her in, Liza is drawn to one member in particular. Danger comes along in the form of three men with fire and a truck, and it's up to Daryl and Liza to hunt them down and save the group. Daryl/OC. Slow burn.
1. Anger

Greetings! This is my first attempt at a Walking Dead fic. Hope you enjoy and be sure to comment!

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><p>My lungs were on fire. My throat was frozen from the icy winter air. I'd been running so hard and so far that I couldn't even feel my legs anymore. My skin prickled where the wind scratched its cold claws against it, but the rest of me was drowning in a feverish sweat. The heavy pack strapped to my back wasn't making matters better, but I couldn't drop it. Everything I had was inside that pack. Luckily the growlers were slow, though the mob following me was massive. The deserted, tree-lined street seemed to stretch on for miles before me and the growlers kept emerging from the sidelines. I felt like I was running from an avalanche that was nipping at my heels. One misstep and I was dead.<p>

There was a lone growler on the pavement ahead of me. I gripped the handle of my machete tightly as we approached each other at vastly different speeds. One strong swing of my arm decapitated the monster and I kept running. I didn't even dare look over my shoulder. I might trip over something in that single moment of stupid curiosity. Even if I'd lost them miles back, the momentum from the pure adrenaline pumping through my veins pushed me forward and faster. I was starting to run not to escape certain death, but because I hadn't felt so free in a long time. I'd made it this far. I wasn't about to slow down now.

Or so I thought.

There was some sudden event missing from my immediate memory that would explain why I was sprawled out on the ground, the last second of my speed dragging quickly to a halt as the asphalt broke my fall. My machete had flown out of my hand in some direction or another and was now lying several feet away from me. I scrambled to get up, but the pain in my leg suddenly deadened all my other senses. I couldn't hear. My vision was getting cloudy. I dug my fingertips into the street to try to regain my sense of reality. I was dizzy. What on earth could I possibly have tripped over? I had been looking where I was going and there were no impending hazards in my way.

The tight grip on my upper arm snapped me back to full consciousness as I flailed instinctively in an effort to escape.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" The man standing over me tried to calm me down as I successfully wriggled free and fell back to the ground. I blinked through the dust in my eyes, trying desperately to see his face. Maybe it was someone I knew. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding concerned and out of breath. I thought I could hear the distinct rumbling of a Harley nearby.

"I'm fine," I reacted without thinking. I was not fine. I was, in fact, so far from fine that I hadn't even realized the other crippling pain in my left palm. I looked down at my hand to see a jagged rock sticking halfway into my skin. "That's not supposed to be there," I mumbled.

"You tryin' to get yourself killed out here?" the stranger asked like he was scolding me.

"What happened?" I replied as I looked around. There was a motorcycle parked on the side of the road, engine still running. The man in question looked as filthy as me, skin darkened by dirt and blood, greasy hair hanging in his eyes. The black leather vest he wore looked impeccable in comparison to the dirty, torn shirt he wore underneath it.

"You ran right out in front of me," he answered. "I almost killed myself tryin' to avoid runnin' you over."

"Sorry," I said, not fully comprehending the situation just yet.

"That looks bad," he observed as he gently grabbed my wrist. My reflexes yanked my hand away from him. "Relax," he said. "Let me look at it." He took my wrist again with a firm grip and examined the damage. "You got any bandages on you?"

"In my bag," I replied, slipping the right strap off my shoulder. He pulled it around in front of him and started rummaging through it. He pulled the tiny first aid kit out from somewhere in the bottom and unzipped it. There was a piece of gauze just big enough the cover my hand, a small roll of tape, tweezers, band-aids, and some disinfecting wipes.

"Why didn't you keep driving?" I asked as he tore open one of the wipe packets.

"What?"

"Why are you helping me?" I had learned the hard way not to trust anyone, no matter how kind and generous they might seem. A strange man with a crossbow hitched to his back certainly did not fit the possibly-not-a-murderer description. The redneck twang he spoke with didn't help his case, but maybe that was just my liberal, west coast prejudice doing my thinking for me.

"Would you rather I let you bleed to death in the middle of the road?" he returned sarcastically.

A sudden sharp pain shot from my palm up the rest of my arm and into my spine. I hadn't noticed him pick up the tweezers and go for the invading rock. I tried to pull my hand away again, but his grip was strong as he pressed the disinfecting wipe against my wound. It made me forget all about the pain in my leg.

"Is it just you?" I asked through gritted teeth, trying to distract myself. "Or do you have a group somewhere?"

"Do _you _have a group?" he echoed.

"I asked first," I replied indignantly.

"What's it to you?"

"I wanna know if I should be worried about getting jumped by the living later," I said.

There was a hint of a smile on his face. "Don't worry about us," he replied. "You got nothin' useful in your bag." My eyes widening in what I hoped didn't look too much like fear must have projected my exact thoughts.

"Don't be so paranoid," he said. I couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure me.

"Can you blame me?" I asked.

"I guess you have a point," he surmised. "There," he added when he was done cleaning and wrapping my hand.

"Thanks," I muttered, wiggling my fingers to test the pain. Not too bad once the initial stabbing sensation had dulled to a stubborn throbbing.

"Can you stand?" he asked as he stood back up, offering a hand.

"I think so," I said, ignoring the hand to push myself up. I managed to straighten all the way up, but had to keep the majority of my weight on my right leg as I had fallen directly onto my left thigh and had most likely bruised it pretty deeply. I limped over to where my machete lay and picked it up. There were still bits of rotten skin and spinal fluid from my last kill dripping from it.

"You can barely walk," the stranger commented.

"An astute observation," I replied as I wobbled back over to pick up my bag.

"Suit yourself," he said, turning back to his bike.

"Thanks for the help," I stated.

"See you 'round," he said, and kicked the bike into gear and sped off, leaving me alone again in the middle of the road. I suddenly felt a hint of regret. Was he going to take me in? Let me join his group? No, that sort of thing didn't happen these days. Everyone was out to get everyone else, as if the walking corpses weren't enough of an enemy to deal with. If I had been in his place, I would have kept driving.

In all the dazed excitement I had failed to notice the fact that I had indeed outrun the mob that was after me. No doubt more were on their way, what with the deafening engine on that bike. I hoisted my bag back onto my shoulders and continued down my previous path. I'd have to take care not to limp too obviously in case someone else were to mistake me for a growler.

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><p>The pain was slowly starting to ease up. I wasn't limping quite so dramatically anymore. A few miles down the road I came across a group of dead growlers. That meant there were other people nearby. Maybe it was the stranger's group. Someone who went out of his way to help me even though the predicament was mostly my fault couldn't have been that horrible. And horrible people don't usually stick to nice, welcoming groups. If I were to ever see him again, it might just be the luckiest day of my life.<p>

I kept my eyes on the road ahead. It stretched on forever. It was one of those highways between cities that were basically just straight lines connecting point A to point B with several hundred miles of asphalt in between. There was nothing but trees and grass on either side of the road. Where there were no trees, the harsh sun beat down on my face. My skin burned despite the cold air. Nothing was comfortable anymore.

There was something in the road ahead. From my vantage point it was just a dark blob, but I knew that as my distance to it decreased, it would certainly turn into a pack of growlers. I kept walking. Straight ahead. Towards the blob. I knew I should probably take a detour through the trees or stop and rest out of sight for awhile, but something in me pushed me forward. I was angry. Angry at the world for what it had become; angry at my feet for hurting; angry at my hand for letting the rock pierce it; and quite honestly, I was angry at myself for not being a little nicer to the stranger who'd helped me.

I hated the growlers. I hated their absolute refusal to stay dead. I gripped the handle of my machete and drew it out of the holster on my belt. I was going to get some of my anger out.

The blob did indeed turn out to be a pack of growlers. Not only had the world become dangerous, it had become predictable. There were no more surprises. What didn't want to eat you wanted to kill you. I marched forward, the dull growl of the undead clearly audible now. I counted them. Seven. I could take seven growlers.

They were all aware of my approaching presence and had started their gimpy shuffling in my direction. Without a moment's hesitation, I sliced the head off one, then another, then a third. I had to scramble back a few steps as they were all trying to get at me at once. One of them nearly scratched my face. I stuck the end of my blade directly between its eyes. The soft squish was oddly satisfying. The skull beneath the rotted skin seemed to have the consistency of an orange peel, not hard bone. In the beginning, that sort of thing made me gag. Now it was just like any other mundane fact about existence.

The last three were a bit more aggressive. I swung my blade through the air several times but only managed to knock one down and partially decapitate another. While my attention was on those two, the third locked its spindly fingers around my right forearm. I tried to struggle free but it had quite a strong grip for such a stupid thing. I switched the machete into my free hand and swung as hard as I could. I wasn't left-handed, so it didn't do much damage, but it knocked the thing off me and freed up my right arm. With one strong swing, number three was down. One and two were dragging themselves over their fallen comrades, trying to get a taste of my ankles. The heel of my boot broke right through the skull of one, and my blade took care of the last.

Out of breath and very much triumphant, I made my way into the trees so I could sit and drink some water. I leaned against a thick tree trunk, my bag on the ground beside me, and chugged as much water as I allowed myself for that day. I could hold off on the rest until tomorrow.

I shoved the bottle back into my bag and let my head fall back against the bark. I hadn't realized how tired I was or how badly swinging that heavy blade had hurt the fresh wound in my hand. I let sleep creep over me.

I wasn't sure if it was just half a dream, but I could have sworn I heard a familiar voice say, "Aw, shit," before everything went dark.


	2. Suspicion

Hello hello! Here's chapter 2! Read, comment, enjoy!

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><p>There was warmth on my face when I woke up. I stirred slowly, keeping my eyes shut. I was lying on something soft. <em>That's strange, <em>I thought. I slid easily out of my sleep-induced daze and blinked my eyes open. FIRE. I scrambled back, but was blocked by something solid and cushy. I looked behind me. I was on a sofa. Inside a small house. How on earth had I gotten here? I looked back at the fire. It was crackling safely inside a fireplace framed by red bricks and an iron grate. I noticed the rack beside it was missing the fire poker. It was probably being used as a weapon against the undead.

There was a heavy blanket over me that I had partially shoved off in my panicked reaction to the fire. I suddenly realized I'd been sweating and my clothes were damp and clammy. I hated wet clothes. I looked around the room. It was a simple, small living room that looked as though it had been robbed by some very greedy burglars. All that was left was the sofa, a crooked shelf with most of its books still intact, and a low coffee table covered in random papers. There didn't seem to be anyone home, but I didn't want to call out in case the sound attracted the wrong attention. I lowered myself to the floor and scooted closer to the fire. If my clothes were going to be damp they might as well be somewhat warm. My bag sat on the floor at one end of the sofa. My machete was missing. _Shit. _I held my hands close to the grate, letting the heat chase away the cold, then stood slowly.

It was dark outside. The only light in the room came from the fire. I needed to figure out where I was and who had brought me here, but I didn't have a weapon to defend myself in case my host had ill intentions. I remembered the pocket knife I kept stowed in my bag. It wasn't much, but it was sharp. I dug it out and opened the largest blade, which was no longer than my index finger.

I made my way quietly to the doorway that led to the front hall. The door was right there. I could easily get out of here, but curiosity made me decide to look for useful goods first.

I turned the corner and entered the kitchen. Empty, of course. The food had probably been the first thing to be taken. There were a few pots and pans left strewn about. The drawers hung open, relieved of all the sharp silverware. Cupboard doors were wide open, revealing more empty shelves. I opened the refrigerator. The smell that burst out was worse than anything I'd ever smelled before. The light was out and it was warm inside. I immediately slammed the door, no longer interested in what could possibly have been causing the stench.

Defeated, I made my way out of the kitchen and back to the living room. There was no point in staying here. What good was shelter when there was no food or water? I'd be better off outside. I picked up my bag and went to the front door.

I stopped short with my hand halfway to the knob. There were voices outside. Three or four of them. I peered through the peephole. The distorted figures were approaching, carrying large bags full of god knows what. I was about to search for another way out when one of the men came into full view of the door. It was the stranger with the crossbow. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The other two looked just as disheveled as him. I was completely at a loss of what to do.

Crossbowman reached for the door and I bolted back into the living room. Maybe there was somewhere to hide. There was another hallway, probably leading to the bedrooms. If I needed to , I could escape through one of the windows.

I rounded the corner into the hall just as the front door opened. At the other end of the hall was one of the rooms. I went to it and shut the door quietly behind me. There was a single bed and a pile of torn clothes on the floor. The window above the bed was big enough to let me out. I set my bag down on the bed below the window and pushed the glass pane up. If anything were to happen, this would be my exit.

I gripped my pocketknife—I still had to recover my machete—and went back to the door. I listened for a moment. They were still talking. Their voices seemed to come from the other side of the house, probably the kitchen. Very slowly, I pulled the door open and tiptoed back into the hall. I waited at the doorway for a moment, thinking. Should I approach them? Find out what they wanted with me? Or should I go back to the window that was ready and waiting to let me go? The pocketknife would be useless against growlers and finding another useful weapon would be a tricky task. I had to get it back. I knew these men must have it somewhere.

I snuck back across the living room and into the doorway of the kitchen. They didn't seem to notice me as they were busy unpacking piles of food. It looked like they'd gone grocery shopping, but that was impossible. They were probably just good at scavenging.

"Hey!" I announced my presence. They all jumped and turned to me in unison. One of them suddenly had a frying pan in his hand. I had my knife raised at them, so the auto-defense wasn't really a surprise. "Who are you?" I demanded.

"This her?" the older one asked crossbowman.

"Yup," he answered.

"Who are you?" I repeated. "How did I get here?"

"Relax, Liza," crossbowman said. How the hell did he know my name? "You were passed out in the woods. I brought you here."

"Why?" was all I could think of to ask.

"You're not so good with the gratitude, are you?" he replied.

I lowered my knife but kept my grip steady. "Where's my machete?"

"Didn't think you'd need it while you were out cold. I hid it in case you woke up and wanted to kill us."

"Can I have it back?"

"Not yet," the older one answered.

The third one set the frying pan back on the counter. He looked nicer than the other two and was about my age. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fantastic," I snapped.

"Calm down," the older one replied. "We're not gonna hurt you. We just wanna know who _you_ are first."

I stared at him. "You already know my name," I said. "What more do you need to know?"

"How many walkers have you killed?" he asked.

Walkers. Interesting name. Everyone called them something different. "I don't know," I replied. "A lot."

"How many people have you killed?"

That took me by surprise. I'd never thought about the number. It had just become a part of life. Self-defense was the most important thing now, regardless of the state of the attacker. I thought of the seven-year-old boy who'd been bitten, the man who thought I was weaker than I looked, the grieving old lady who, surprisingly enough, had almost killed me. I'd never killed anyone without good reason.

"Three," I answered.

"Why?"

"What?" Why did he need a reason?

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because I had to," I replied. "Two out of self-defense and one who got bit."

He thought for a moment about what I had to say. His face was a blank. I had no idea if I had the right answers or not.

"I'm Rick," he finally said. "That's Daryl and Glenn."

I looked back and forth between the three of them. Had they just welcomed me to their group? I didn't know how to react.

"How did you know my name?" I asked, more curious than worried at this point.

"Your ID," crossbowman—Daryl—replied.

"You went through my bag again?"

"Yeah?" he said like I'd just asked the world's stupidest question.

I just let it go. I wasn't really in any position to question them when they'd taken me in instead of leaving me in the middle of the woods. I must have really passed out like he said. Usually the slightest noise or movement woke me up, but for him to have carried me all the way here I must have been completely knocked out.

My stomach gave a loud grumble. I hadn't noticed how hungry I was until I saw all the food they'd laid out on the counter.

"How strict are you about rations?" I asked, eyeing the food. It was mostly in cans with the exception of some old potato chips that were probably stale.

"This was the last of it," Rick replied. "If we want more we're gonna have to move. We can make it last a few days, at best."

"You think that'll last a few days?" Glenn asked, eyebrows raised. "We'll probably run out by tomorrow night."

There was enough food to last four people at least a week with small portions. It didn't make sense.

"You're really gonna eat all of that in a day?" I asked.

"It's not just us," Glenn explained. "Two are asleep and the others haven't gotten back yet."

"Others? How many others?" I wasn't exactly prepared to meet more people that may or may not take a liking to me. Three was enough. I hadn't even known there were other people in the house with me before these three arrived.

"There's eight of us all together," Glenn replied.

"I see," I said, unsure. I'd gotten so used to being alone I didn't know how I felt about being around eight other people. That meant responsibility for more than one person, and I wasn't exactly the responsible type. As long as there weren't any kids, I'd probably be fine.

As if right on cue, a baby's cry came from some corner of the house. My face must have given my thoughts away.

"Don't like kids?" Daryl asked, that slightly amused half-smile back on his face.

"Is that a baby?" Kids were one thing. _Infants _were another.

"That's my daughter," Rick said, and went off to go comfort her.

"He had a baby during all of this?" I asked, waving my hands around the room but trying to indicate the entire world.

"It's a long story," Glenn said. "And it's Rick's to tell."

I nodded, not fully understanding what the hell anyone was doing _reproducing _in times like these. A baby was basically a noise bomb that could detonate at any second. I wondered if they'd ever been hiding from growlers when it started crying. They were clearly good at fighting and protecting each other. The baby was still alive and well, after all. Truthfully, I was a little impressed.

"Here." Daryl was holding out a can of sliced peaches for me.

"Thanks," I said. I'd never been so excited for peaches before. I still had my pocketknife in my hand, so I stabbed the lid of the can and pried it open. It smelled so sweet my mouth watered instantly. They were freshly picked, homegrown peaches, as far as I was concerned. I stuck one of the peaches with the small blade and shoved it in my mouth. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten.

"Uh muh grd," I managed to mumble through my mouthful of heaven.

Glenn laughed. "Good, right?"

"Mhm," I nodded. I had to turn away from Glenn and Daryl as peach juice started dribbling down my chin. I wiped it off with my sleeve and swallowed the fruit.

"Sorry," I said when I turned back. "I'm used to more bland food in questionable condition. Where did you find all this stuff?" I picked at another slice of peach, this time cutting a bite size piece so as not to embarrass myself further.

"House on the other side of town," Daryl said.

"They had this stuff stockpiled," Glenn added.

"So…they gave it to you?" I asked.

"Not exactly," Glenn replied.

"We found 'em dead in their living room," Daryl clarified. "Didn't want it to go to waste."

"Oh." Dead in their own home. I suddenly felt a lot less safe inside this house.

A knock at the door made me jump and almost drop my can of deliciousness.

"I'll get it." Glenn went to get the door.

"Is that the others?" I asked Daryl.

"Yup." He was digging into his own can of something. I couldn't quite tell what it was but it didn't look too appetizing.

"Where were they?"

"Lookin' for more food," he replied. "We knew this wouldn't last." He held up his can.

"What are you gonna do once it's gone?"

"We'll have to move, I guess," he said. "Find another town."

"You say that like it's no big deal," I observed.

"Haven't you been movin' from place to place?"

"Well, yeah, but I was alone," I answered. "It was easier."

"Ain't nothin' easy about livin' anymore," he said. "We all had to get used to it."

"I _am _used to, Daryl," I said. "I watched them tear my family apart. Literally. Nothing else will ever compare to that."

"Sorry," he said, looking back down at his food.

"No, you're right," I confessed. "I guess I didn't expect anyone else to have had it that bad, too. I actually don't think I'll ever get used to this, to be honest. I just know how to handle it now."

Daryl nodded. He seemed to know exactly what I was talking about. I wondered who he'd lost, but I knew that was the last question I should be asking.

"Daryl!" Glenn came running back into the kitchen. "Come outside!"

Daryl dropped the can on the counter and ran out after him.

"What the hell is this?" I heard Daryl say. I couldn't resist. I had to see.

I set down my peaches and went to the front door. There, in the middle of the driveway, was a massive buck, and standing over it were two women, one with a lethal looking samurai sword strapped to her back, and a kid who couldn't be older than thirteen. I stepped down from the porch and approached the group, taking care to stay back a bit.

"How the hell did you get this over here?" Daryl asked, completely at a loss.

"It wasn't that far," the kid replied. "We dragged it on the tarp."

I noticed there was a large blue tarp underneath their kill. Smart.

"Who's that?" the samurai asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"She's okay," Glenn answered. "We found her in the woods."

"What's going on out here?" I turned back to see Rick coming out of the house. A girl stood in the doorway holding a sleeping baby.

"We got more food," the kid said.

"I can see that," Rick replied. He was clearly baffled at the sheer size of the thing.

"We figured Daryl and Michonne could gut it and prepare it for us," the other woman said.

As they discussed what to do with the animal, the girl with the baby came and stood next to me.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Maggie."

"Liza," I smiled.

"This is Judith." She looked down at the baby. "Don't worry, she's usually pretty quiet."

"That's good," I said. I already liked Maggie. She was the only one who didn't seem immediately suspicious of my being here. "I kinda feel like I'm intruding on your group."

"Oh, you're not," she assured me. "Some people just don't trust strangers that easily. I can't really blame 'em."

"The one with the sword keeps looking at me like I'm the devil."

"That's Michonne. She's just really protective of us. She'll like you once she gets to know you."

"Is the kid Rick's, too?" I asked when I noticed Rick's hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Yeah, that's Carl. Judith's big brother. And that's Carol. Not as scary as Michonne."

"Are they really expecting to eat that whole thing?" I asked as they started dragging it away behind the house. "It looks like it weighs a ton."

"You'd be surprised," Maggie laughed.

With that pile of meat, I expected we wouldn't be moving as soon as they'd thought. At least it would give me a chance to settle down and enjoy a roof for once. And if this group really was as great as Maggie was making them sound, things might not be so bad anymore. Glenn and Maggie were really nice. Rick seemed like a fearless leader. And it didn't seem like I'd learn that much about Daryl. He was somewhat of a quiet type. But there was something about him that was intriguing. I felt like I wanted to talk to him more, even though doing so might prove to be a tedious task with his mumbling and one word answers. Regardless, I felt like I'd feel calm—safe, even—for the first time in forever, as long as I was with these people.


	3. Determination

Dinner couldn't have been better. The buck did indeed yield a huge amount of food. We'd sat around the coffee table in the living room chowing down on our feast. I clearly wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten in far too long. We'd talked about taking it slow, rationing it out so it didn't run out too quickly, but we were all so hungry and we figured since we'd have to move anyway what was the point in dragging it out?

Needless to say, everyone slipped into food comas. Glenn and Maggie were knocked out on the sofa. Carol had gone to claim a semi-comfortable bed with Carl and Judith. Rick was cleaning up in the kitchen. I didn't know where Michonne was, but she'd stopped giving me the evil eye halfway through dinner. I guess I was making progress.

I sat in front of the freshly lit fire, digging sticky clumps of peach out of the little nooks and crannies in my pocketknife with a damp cloth. I might as well have dropped the whole thing into the can considering how much of a mess I'd made. The bowl of hot water beside me was beginning to get cloudy as I dipped the cloth back into it.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see the blade of my machete. Daryl was holding it out for me.

"Thanks," I said quietly as I took it. It was good to know I was someone who could be trusted again. He sat down beside me and started sharpening a dagger with a smooth stone.

I examined my machete. It was covered in a thick crust of dried blood and guts. It needed some good cleaning, and probably some sharpening, too. I dunked the cloth into the bowl and wrung it out. The water was starting to cool down, but it was warm enough.

I started scrubbing the grime off the blade. Some soap and a brush would have come in handy right about now.

"You know," Daryl's quiet voice took me by surprise, "I saw what you did out there. With that pack of walkers."

"It was stupid," I replied. "I could have gotten myself killed."

"But you didn't," he stated.

"I was mad," I said. "And really lucky."

"You think people still get lucky?" he asked.

"I did."

"That wasn't luck, that was you swingin' a blade."

"So why didn't you help me?" I asked. "If you saw me against seven of them."

"You were too far away."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't need help, then," I quipped.

"Until you passed out."

"Until I passed out. Yeah," I nodded slowly. What would have become of me if he hadn't found me? If a growler had come my way and I didn't wake up? If that wasn't luck it was something very close. "Thank you, by the way," I added. "I don't know if I ever thanked you."

"Don't mention it," he replied.

"Do you usually take in wounded strangers?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Just figured we could use a good fighter."

"You don't have enough of those?"

"Not as long as there's a baby to take care of."

I watched him. He was staring into the fire, not paying much attention to the dagger in his hand. He was thinking about other things, probably other people. Ones he'd lost. Ones he couldn't protect. His face was hard to read. He always wore the same frown, even when he'd half-smiled at me earlier. He looked worn down, but more so than the rest of us. The way he acted around the others, I figured he put on a strong face and fought for them without questions. But now, when they weren't looking, he looked tired. Of course, I hardly knew him at all, but when someone stared at nothing like that, it was usually because of exhaustion.

He must have felt me staring at him because he turned to look back at me. I dropped my eyes to my work instantly, hoping the soft orange light from the fire hid my blush. I could have sworn I heard him laugh for a second.

After a moment I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Rick standing behind us, a hand also on Daryl's shoulder. He held up a finger for us to stay quiet and beckoned us to follow him. Daryl and I exchanged glances before getting up. He kept his blade with him, so I took mine. It was only half cleaned.

We followed Rick to the window by the front door. He held back the curtain for us to look. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but I could somewhat make out a speck of light in the distance behind the house across the road.

"Is that fire?" Daryl whispered.

"It's been moving," Rick replied. "Slowly, but moving."

"There must be someone out there, then," I suggested.

"You wanna go find out?" Daryl asked Rick.

"It's too dangerous," he replied. "We could be outnumbered."

"Wouldn't it be better to know that before they reach us here?" I argued.

"Good point," Daryl added.

Rick thought for a moment. "Okay," he finally said. "But just to see. We don't approach them."

"I'll tell Glenn we're goin' out." Daryl went back to the living room.

"You're comin' with us, by the way," Rick said. It sent a shot of adrenaline through my system.

"Because you think I can handle a fight or because you don't trust me with your kids in the house?"

"Little bit of both," he answered, not bothering to sugar coat it.

"Okay." If ever there was a time to prove myself, this was probably it. I was good at staying quiet and unseen, and if the situation called for it, my knife was most likely bigger than theirs.

Rick took his belt from the hook by the door and strapped it on. There was a gun in the holster. He pulled another gun from the back of his pants. Had he been wearing it all night?

"Here, put this on your belt." He held out a knife in a sheath. I did as he said as Daryl rejoined us.

"Good to go," he said. Rick nodded and opened the door.

The three of us walked silently down the steps of the porch. There was a short _hiss _behind us. We turned. Michonne was sitting on the roof, sword across her lap. She'd been watching the light, too.

"I'm going with you," she whispered. She crawled carefully to the edge of the roof, grabbed onto the frame of the eaves, and swung herself down, hardly making a sound. She strapped the sword to her back and started off ahead of us.

The house across the street was empty and run down, broken windows and absent doors making it look like a face out of a horror movie. There were several acres of land behind it. The light was coming from the other side along the tree line. We ducked into the trees beside the house and made our way around, taking care to stay in the shadows.

As we got closer, I could make out several figures. Some were just milling around, others looked like they were limping.

"They look like walkers," Michonne whispered.

"They probably are," Rick said.

"Hang on." Daryl stopped and picked up a rock the size of his fist. He looked at Rick for approval. Rick nodded.

Daryl stepped to the edge of the trees and hurled the rock as hard as he could towards the strangers. It landed with a hard thump. There was a collective change of direction among the pack. They started shuffling towards where the rock fell. Their growling was audible now.

We all breathed a sigh of relief.

"We should put out that fire," Rick suggested. We made our way out of the trees and approached the small herd. One of the walkers was chained to a large piece of wood that looked like it had come from a fence. The fence must have burned down, judging by the size of the flames devouring this piece. The walker had been dragging it around behind it. I was surprised the whole forest hadn't burned down in the process.

There were about fifteen walkers. Daryl took out three with his crossbow. Michonne sliced a few heads in half as Rick stabbed a few more. They seemed to be doing just fine, but I didn't want to stand around and be useless.

I swung my machete, successfully decapitating one of them. Daryl had switched to his dagger and was stabbing the ones that came at him. Michonne took down a walker that nearly got its fingers around Rick's neck from behind.

I cut the head off a walker near Daryl. He ducked to avoid getting the projectile blood in his face. In that single moment of distraction, another one reached out and dug its boney fingers into his arm. He slammed the end of his crossbow into its head a few times, but it held on tight. In a panic, I kicked it hard in the gut. I didn't want to risk swinging at it and hitting Darly instead in the commotion. It hit the ground with a squish. I stuck the end of my machete into its head. Another one fell down next to me. Rick had killed it before it could attack me from behind. The stupid things were coming out of nowhere.

Michonne took out the last one and dragged its body on top of the burning piece of wood. After a few moments, it was dark.

"Is everyone okay?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," Michonne and I replied at the same time.

"Daryl?" No answer. Rick went over to him. He was looking down at his arm.

"It's just a scratch, I didn't get bit," Daryl grunted. He was gritting his teeth against the pain.

"Are you sure?" Rick asked sternly.

"I'm fine," Daryl shot back and started heading back towards the house.

* * *

><p>Daryl was already standing over the kitchen sink by the time we made it back to the house. Glenn was standing next to him with a canteen of water.<p>

"See if he's okay," Rick said to Michonne. "I'm gonna check on Judith."

Michonne joined Daryl and Glenn in the kitchen. "What happened?" she asked.

"One of 'em grabbed me, that's all," he grumbled.

"It looks pretty bad, Daryl," Glenn added. "You're gonna need stitches."

"So I'll sew it up, don't worry about it," Daryl retorted.

"I still have some bandages left," I offered as I entered the kitchen. "I can wrap it up for you."

Michonne looked back at me and nodded.

When I came back with my first aid kit, Daryl was sitting at the island on a stool, a dirty rag pressed over the wound and soaking up blood quickly.

"Good luck," Glenn said to me as he passed me on his way out of the kitchen. Michonne was right behind him, clearly amused by Daryl's stubbornness.

I took a seat at the island next to him. His hand was holding the rag down tightly.

"That's filthy," I observed. "Take it off, lemme see."

He removed the rag slowly and placed it underneath his arm to catch the blood that was still trickling out of it. There were three short but deep gashes from where the walker's fingers had dug in.

I removed one of the disinfecting wipes from its wrapper and wrung it out over the scratches. Some of the chemical dripped down. Daryl flinched and hissed against the pain.

"You okay?" I asked as I dabbed the scratches with the wipe.

"Fine," he grunted.

I wiped away most of the blood, but the wound was still fresh. I didn't have a way to make stitches, but the tape was still in the kit. I tore off a short piece and pinched the skin on either side of the first scratch together to make it narrower.

"Jesus Christ," Daryl groaned. "You're gonna make it worse."

Ignoring him, I pressed the tape down over the scratch. It held nicely. The bleeding slowed almost instantly. I tore off another piece of tape. I wiped away some of the blood that dripped out of the second one.

"I don't think this is gonna work," he said.

"You wanna know what I was doing before the world went to shit?" I asked as I pinched the second scratch closed. I took his silence and clenched jaw as a yes. "I was a student. Pre-law. Thought I'd make six figures for arguing with people. Then I got bored and switched to engineering. That was fun for a semester, but the math was too much. Then I met this guy who was studying to be an EMT. It sounded interesting, so I switched my major again. I lasted longer in that one than the first two. Got certified and started working right outta school. So, Daryl dearest, the point I'm trying to make here is, stop crying, I know how to treat a scratch." I wrapped the remaining bandage I had tightly around the three sealed gashes and secured it with a final piece of tape. "Let me know if your fingers go numb."

I started packing what was left of my kit back up.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled.

"You're welcome," I replied. I hadn't realized it, but we had ended up sitting closer to each other than I'd intended. His leg was touching mine and his bandaged arm was directly in front of me on the counter. The room suddenly felt warmer as the blood rushed to my face. I refused to admit it to myself before, but Daryl was stupidly attractive, despite the thick layer of dirt on his face. I'd caught myself staring at his arms during dinner earlier that night. He didn't take care of himself very well, but he cared enough about the people he was with for it not to matter.

"You should probably get some sleep," he said finally, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between us.

"Yeah," I stammered, mentally snapping myself out of it. "You too. Try not to roll on top of that in your sleep," I added, indicating his arm.

"I can't make any promises," he said lightly with that half-smile.

"Well, good night," I said as I slid down from the stool.

"Night."

The bed was cold. They'd let me take the room where I'd left my bag beneath the open window. Thankfully one of them had closed it before anything could come in. I'd forgotten all about it in the excitement. I wrapped the tattered blanket around myself tighter, trying to clear my head. All I could think about was what had just happened, how close we'd been sitting. I could still feel the warmth of his skin below my fingers. I knew I was being stupid. I was embarrassed of my own thoughts, but I thought them anyway. His dirt-covered face was the last thing on my mind as I drifted off to sleep.


	4. Inferiority

The town square wasn't just empty, it was desolate. There was a certain stillness to it that disproved the existence of life, even though I was standing there, breathing, looking right at it. A soft breeze swept the dead leaves across the prickly grass. The rustling of the trees that had always meant nature and serenity now reminded me of the cold and the fact that I was outside. Outside meant danger, no matter how walker-free the area seemed. Unless I had my back against something solid like a wall or a tree, there was always that vulnerable spot that my eyes unfortunately couldn't see through the back of my head. The town felt haunted. Still I stood there, drinking in the calm silence, letting the wind sway me from side to side. I was glad to be alone.

I'd gotten so lost in the eerie tranquility of the place that Daryl's voice startled me. "So?" He sounded impatient. "Which one?" Suddenly I wasn't alone anymore.

Daryl, Carol, and I had come to the town's center in search of a working vehicle. Sure, we had Daryl's bike, but that was _Daryl's_ bike. It didn't do much for transportation when it came to everyone else's lack of mobility, anyway. I noticed Carol standing by quietly. She had her eyes closed and face pointed toward the sun. She was enjoying the atmosphere as much as I was.

I looked around. The cars that were still in one piece were either too small, too rusted, or had too many broken windows. Even if we found one that looked right, the engine would most likely be shot. I didn't want to speak and break the silence again, but priorities rendered that pointless.

"There's a van over there," I said, pointing at the white, windowless van parked haphazardly with its back wheels up on the sidewalk.

"That might work," Carol agreed.

We made our way down the block to the van, keeping our eyes focused on our surroundings. There could be walkers nearby, or even a trap set by the fully alive. The back of the van was open. There were a couple bodies inside. They didn't look rotted so I figured they'd been bitten and taken care of before they could turn. Shame. It looked like they had been packing the van with supplies and were on their way to some place safe. A sickening wave of realization came over me. The van was empty. What if they'd been killed and robbed of their supplies? Could we not coexist peacefully anymore, even with this common enemy? No, that question had been answered for me not too long ago. I could only hope that whoever was responsible here was long gone by now. And that meant there wasn't anything salvageable left for us to use.

"I'll see if it runs," Daryl said as he went around to the driver's seat. _If it works, why would it still be here? _The key was still in the ignition. He turned it, but the engine didn't even sputter. He smacked the steering wheel and stepped out to look under the hood.

"We should probably move them in case he gets it working," Carol suggested, looking down at the bodies. I nodded in agreement and we started dragging them out of the van. The first one was easy enough. There was a stab wound to the back of his head and his skin was pale but not rotten. We pulled him aside on the sidewalk. There was no use in creating a proper burial at this point as they were long forgotten. But still we set him down right next to the wall of the thrift shop behind us, out of the way of possible traffic blazing through, and folded his hands over his stomach.

Once the first one looked comfortable enough, we went back for the second one. He was laying face down, one arm dangling out the back of the van. Carol and I each grabbed a shoulder and had barely begun to pull when the dead hand grabbed my thigh. I jumped back, but its fingers were wrapped tightly in the fabric of my jeans. They'd become looser with wear, so they were no longer skin tight as they used to be. I must have screamed or made some startled noise because Daryl came running to the back of the van. With his heavy boot, he stomped the thing's arm off my leg just as Carol's dagger sliced into its skull.

"Are you alright?" Carol asked me as I regained my footing.

"Yeah," I said. "It just surprised me." I would probably have been able free myself, but Carol and Daryl were so quick I barely had a moment to reach for Rick's knife, which I now kept attached to my belt.

Daryl grabbed the walker by the hair and lifted its head up to reveal a deep slash across its throat. "They did a shit job of killin' this one," he remarked, and dropped the head back down. "Almost did a job on you," he added, turning to me. "Better watch your back."

I scowled at him. Obviously I was alert at all times. He went back to the front of the van. Carol and I exchanged exasperated glances and pulled the body all the way out, dropping it there on the ground.

"He likes you," Carol commented. I almost laughed out loud.

"Yeah, right," I replied.

"'Ey, get up here!" Daryl called from under the hood. "Get in the front and turn it on when I tell you."

"Did you fix the problem?" Carol asked him as I climbed into the front seat.

"Guess we'll find out," he replied. He fiddled with something I couldn't see, then yelled, "Okay, go!"

I turned the key. It sputtered and whined for a moment, but wouldn't turn over. Daryl messed with something else, then, "Try it again!" I turned the key, this time pumping the gas pedal at the same time. After a few moments, the engine roared to life. "Yeah!" I heard Daryl yell. He dropped the hood back down and hopped into the passenger seat beside me.

"Let's see what we got in here," he said as he opened the glove box. It was empty, save for a few registration and insurance papers. He bent over and reached under the seat. "Nothin'," he said.

I looked at the gas meter. It only had a quarter tank. "We need gas," I said, wondering how the hell that was gonna happen.

"Leave it runnin'. We gotta check out the store real quick." He climbed back out of the van and joined Carol at the shop front.

I shut the driver's side door, rolled the window down, and pulled myself up so I was sitting on the ledge, my feet resting on the seat. I watched as they entered through the shattered front window of the shop. Hopefully something—_anything—_useful was left. I turned the other way, looking around at the other shop fronts and businesses. The town was small enough to not have some chain or another on every street corner. These were mostly family owned, mom-and-pop shops and cafes. It was quiet again, except for Daryl and Carol's footsteps cracking the broken glass inside as they rummaged around. There was a fountain in the middle of the grassy area that made up the center of the town square. It was dry and cracked now, but I could tell it used to be beautiful, glistening in the sun on a hot summer day. The wooden benches lining the edge of the dead grass were broken, overturned, or rotting. Someone once took great pride in keeping this place clean, watered, and trimmed, but all that was left now was grey and brown remains of flowers and grass.

The fountain had been blocking my view of the street that led away on the opposite side of the square, so I didn't see the lone walker until it was passing the crumbling stone structure. I didn't panic. I barely even blinked. It was one walker. I could probably stay right where I was and let it come to me so I could kill it without wasting any energy. I let it step into the street on my side of the square. The sound of the engine must have caught its attention. I wondered what they'd found in the store—_if _they'd found anything.

The walker was just a few feet from the van now. I pulled my knife from its holster and held it up at the height of the walker's head. I was curious to see if it would walk into it. It reached out for my arm before it was close enough. I pulled my hand away, then plunged the knife into its forehead after it came a few steps closer. The all too familiar stench of rotten brains snaked into the air as it fell to the ground. When I looked back up, the sight before me made my heart stop.

The square was littered with dozens of walkers limping around aimlessly. A good portion of them were headed my way. _SHIT!_ I looked back to the store. They were still inside somewhere. I had to lock myself in the van and trust that they could defend themselves, or run out quietly to warn them. If I'd been alone, the van option would have sufficed. But I wasn't about to let them be ambushed by a horde of walkers that I knew was coming for them.

Slowly, carefully, I pulled my legs out of the window and lowered myself to the ground. Only a handful of walkers saw me but they were still far enough away to for me not to have to hurry. Most of them were still milling around the grassy area and the street beyond it. I pulled my machete from its sheath and stepped lightly to the window.

Broken glass was everywhere. I didn't know how I'd make it through here without attracting the walkers. I took a few very slow steps in spots that were mostly clear of glass and peered inside the store. From what I could see, several looters had already ransacked the place. The only things left were empty clothing racks, shelves removed from the walls, and torn clothing on the floor. I could hear Daryl and Carol moving around behind one of the shelves that was still standing. I needed to get their attention, but I couldn't go any further or the glass would break beneath my boots and make too much noise. I couldn't call out to them for the same reason. I looked over my shoulder. The walkers were coming closer, but I still had time. I looked down. Shards of glass and torn rags lay everywhere. Just inside the window was a mannequin that somehow ended up in pieces. The hand was close enough for me to reach. It took some impressive stretching, but I managed to grasp it. I tossed it in the direction of the shuffling noises. Luckily I was right. Daryl darted out from behind the shelf, crossbow aimed and ready right between my eyes.

There was a sudden _whoosh _and then a splatter and a thud just behind me. I turned to see a walker on the ground right at my heels, an arrow in its head. I turned back to see Daryl running my way.

"Oh, fuck!" he whispered when he stopped short at the sight outside. Carol came out from behind the shelf carrying a cardboard box that looked somewhat heavy. They'd found something! But now we had to worry about getting back in one piece.

Daryl stepped out of the window, new arrow loaded on his crossbow, as Carol followed him out. The walkers had reached the van. I couldn't get to the front without having to cut through at least ten of them. The back was still clear, but we had just seconds left. Carol shot forward and threw the box into the van right before drawing her dagger and taking out the two walkers that had made their way around the back of the van. Daryl was already shooting and stabbing. I sliced my own blade through the air, taking out another handful of walkers. Machete in my right hand, knife in my left, I cut and stabbed my way through the dead crowd toward the driver's side door. I would be damned if I was gonna leave a perfectly good vehicle behind because of a few rotters. I managed to get halfway there, but there were so many I wasn't gonna make it. I stepped backwards until I was at the back doors again.

"Come on!" Daryl yelled to me as he jumped into the van after Carol. One more slice, one more walker down, and I hurled my body through the back. Daryl grabbed the doors and had to kick a couple walkers away before he could slam them shut. There was a single moment of relief before I remembered the front window I'd rolled down. I scrambled to the front and climbed over the center console just in time to cut off a few arms and kick the walkers away as I fumbled for the window button. All of my weight was on my shoulder pressing down on the gear shift between the seats. My legs were busy kicking walkers' heads. I was having a hard time reaching the button on the door. Daryl reached over me and went to stabbing the invaders so I could get the window up. Somehow I found the right button and pressed down hard. The glass started rolling up at what felt like a glacial pace, but finally it was sealed and we were safe.

I was breathing hard, having just performed some practically acrobatic moves to get to the front seat. I leaned against the steering wheel, taking care not to honk the horn. Daryl was still halfway over the seat, his right hand gripping the center console to steady himself.

"You alright?" he asked me between breaths. He was as winded as I was. I nodded. We'd made it this far. Driving back was the easy part. I wanted to lean forward so I could twist around and sit in the seat properly, but Daryl was still so close. I didn't know if it was just my nerves making me feel awkwardly unable to move, but he saved me the trouble and crawled over to the passenger seat. I looked back at Carol. She was repacking the spilled contents of the box.

"What did you find?" I asked, forgetting my previous will to sit properly.

"Just some old blankets and rope," she replied. "At least it's something."

"We should probably get outta here," Daryl suggested as the walkers continued grabbing at the windows. I finally maneuvered my legs back around to the front of the seat and shifted the van into drive. "Easy," he coached me as I lifted my foot from the brake. The mob would be tough to drive through. They were solid bodies, after all. I pressed down on the gas little by little, plowing through the walkers like a spoon through peanut butter. Several of them fell, causing it to be a bit of a bumpy ride as I ran over them. I steadily picked up speed as the crowd started to thin, and finally we were free.

We drove back to the house in silence. There had been too many close calls and I felt like they were mostly—entirely—my fault. I wanted to kick myself for leaving the window open, for not paying attention to the walkers behind me, for making a complete fool of myself in front of Daryl. I knew it should have been the last thing on my mind when it was a life or death situation, but now that I had time to think back on what had happened, I was suddenly embarrassed. I wasn't as good at fighting as I'd thought. Or maybe I just wasn't good at fighting for other people. I'd made it on my own for this long. I wasn't used to company, to the responsibility that came with group living. Maybe I wasn't cut out for it.

"I'm sorry," I broke the silence as we pulled up to the house.

"For what?" Carol asked. Her voice was soft. I knew she was good with sympathy, but I wanted none of it.

"I almost got us killed," I said.

"What are you talkin' about?" Daryl replied. He sounded genuine.

"I wasn't careful enough."

"You were fine, Liza," Carol assured me.

"I was scared," I said.

"We were all scared," she replied. "Even him." She nodded her head at Daryl.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "She's right."

"I don't think we would have gotten out alive _without _you," Carol went on. "We wouldn't have seen the mob outside. The store would have been overrun before we could get out."

I considered her words. She had a point, but I still felt responsible for…_something. _I always felt this way around other people. I was so afraid of losing anyone I became close to that I always blamed myself if something went wrong. We were all alive, and that should have been enough. It _was _enough. My mind just refused to let me think so.

"Hey," Daryl said quietly. I looked at him. "You did good." That was enough to shatter my composed exterior, but I was already so disheveled that it didn't show. The corner of his mouth twitched in what I assumed was a very weak smile. His eyes bore into mine almost as if they could see right through that outer shell. I had to remind myself to blink, and that we were still sitting in the van.

I straightened up and shook the thoughts in my head away. As Daryl and I got out of the front to help get the box inside, I could have sworn I saw an amused smirk on Carol's face.


	5. Panic

Agh! This chapter was so stubborn so it took me a while x( Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

><p>The sound of glass breaking ripped me from my dreams. I instantly forgot what had been happening, but the residual feeling of happiness and excitement stayed with me for a few moments before I heard the yelling and shouting from the living room. I yanked the blanket off of me and ran out into the hallway. The air was warm and I could hear something crackling. Glenn came running from the living room.<p>

"What's going on?" I asked frantically, but he ran past me and into one of the other bedrooms. I followed him in. He woke up Rick and Carl with violent shakes of their shoulders and said something that sounded like, "The house is on fire." Judging by the speed with which Rick jumped out of bed, I'd heard right.

"Take Judith and go out the window," Rick ordered Carl. He did as he was told. Rick and Glenn ran past me and back out to the living room. There was no use in standing around waiting for an explanation, so I hurried back to my room, shoved my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them up, grabbed my bag and my blades, and went back to the hallway. The temperature had tripled in those few seconds and as I turned the corner, I saw that the furniture was alight with flames that licked the ceiling. I'd only been on a few calls that involved fire, and it was usually the firefighters that went into the burning buildings, but I knew enough to escape with my life. I pulled the collar of my shirt over my nose and mouth and scanned every corner of the room. There didn't seem to be anyone there.

"Is anyone in here?" I yelled as loudly as I could over the roaring of the fire. No answer. "Anyone in here?" I repeated, just to be sure. A rafter fell through the ceiling. The frame of the house was weakening and I was still standing inside it. If anyone was stuck, they weren't getting unstuck. I turned on my heel and hurried back to my room to climb out the window.

What met me outside was the opposite of what I'd been expecting. Instead of the rest of the group waiting outside watching the house burn down, there was a badly dented and blood-covered paddy wagon. The back was open and inside it was everyone except Rick and Daryl. They looked alarmed, like they'd been forced inside instead of offered a ride to safety. I barely had enough time to register what I was seeing before a strong hand grasped the back of my shirt and I felt a sharp blade to my throat.

"Get in," a deep voice growled in my ear. The man started pushing me towards the others. I noticed two more men walk around from the front of the truck, both armed with several guns. I didn't say anything, just let him push me towards the truck as my left hand carefully undid the button on my knife's holster. Gently I slid the blade from its sheath and gripped the handle tight. I waited for the right moment. The other two men were standing by the back doors, fussing with their guns and a box of ammo.

We reached the back of the paddy wagon and I lifted a foot to step up into it, but instead pushed back hard into the man behind me, causing him to lose his balance. In that single second, I was able to twist free and stick my knife into the side of his neck. The men with the guns heard the commotion and ran around to the back. One of them aimed his weapon at the group in the truck to keep them seated while the other came at me, pistol raised. He pulled the trigger but missed. He was close enough that the earsplitting blast of gunpowder left a ringing in my ears. I managed to duck out of the way as he fired another shot and ran at him, hoping to knock him down. Before I could reach him, there was another blast and blood spattered from his forehead into the air. He'd been shot by someone else, but I couldn't see the shooter. The last man standing slammed the doors of the truck shut and ran around to the driver's seat, the whole while dodging several bullets that hit the truck's side instead of their intended target.

I looked to my left and saw Rick running at the truck as it sped away. I ran after him.

"NO!" he screamed as he ran after it faster than I'd ever seen a human being run. "CARL!" He kept running even after the truck had disappeared around the bend. When I finally reached the same turn, both truck and Rick were nowhere to be seen. The road forked off into three more roads, all of which disappeared into thick woods.

"Shit!" I didn't bother trying to stay quiet. "Shit shit shit!" I ran a few feet down the middle road, but the silence that met me told me there were no loud vehicles or hysterical fathers nearby. I ran back to the fork and couldn't decide which of the other two to choose. I was completely frantic. My mind wouldn't calm its panicked thoughts enough for me to make a decision and I stopped, letting my eyes flit back and forth between the three roads. A sob escaped my dry throat. I'd been left behind. I was alone again and the people that had taken me in had been abducted by crazy men. In that moment, the feeling of helplessness that came over me weakened my legs and I sunk to my knees. I didn't care that the rough dirt and stones were cutting into my skin through my jeans. I tried and tried but could think of nothing to do. What _could _I do? They had a truck and I had slow, weak legs.

_And a van. _I suddenly remembered the van I had commandeered with Daryl and Carol. It would still be parked behind the house where the kidnappers couldn't possibly have seen it. It hardly had any gas left, but it was better than nothing.

I forced myself to my feet and was about to turn around when I felt a hand on my shoulder. _They're not fucking taking me, _I thought, and whipped around, fist in the air. Knuckle met cheekbone and I couldn't tell which one the loud crack had come from. I still had my knife in my left hand and was about to swing when I realized that the man gripping his freshly bruised face was Daryl.

"Daryl!" I yelled.

"Who else would I be?" he grunted through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry, I thought you were one of them!" I shrieked, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him to face me so I could look at his cheek.

"Christ, you could kill someone with that swing," he quipped, letting me pull his hand away from his face. The skin was red and swollen. No doubt he'd have a black eye in no time.

"I'm sorry," I said again, not quite feeling like I was getting across just how sorry I was. "Just leave it alone. Don't touch it," I added.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, changing the subject back to the matter at hand.

"I don't know!" I was beginning to get hysterical again. "I woke up and the house was on fire and these guys had everyone in the back of their truck and they tried to take me but I got away and Rick tried to chase it but I lost them they're all gone!" I rambled.

"Even Rick?" Daryl asked.

"He ran after the truck and they went down one of these stupid fucking roads and I don't know which one."

Daryl looked at the three branches of dirt and trees. He couldn't come to a valid conclusion either. All three paths were almost identical in size and tree coverage.

"I was gonna get the van and figure it out from there," I went on. "I figured I could at least find Rick."

Daryl said nothing, but nodded and turned to go back to the house. I had to jog every few steps to keep up with his wide strides. He was thinking, I could tell. He was coming up with a plan, which was more than I could say for myself.

The interior of the van still smelled like old chemicals and rotted flesh. One of the arms I'd cut off from the window was still on the floor in front of the driver's seat, but Daryl had hardly noticed it when he'd climbed in. I sat in the passenger seat, not even bothering to buckle in, as he sped back to the fork. It was rapidly approaching and he wasn't slowing down. He must have already decided on a path.

"Which one?" he asked.

"What?"

"Which one!" he repeated as we approached at a quickening speed.

"Right!" I shouted, and he swerved the van down the road on the right, nearly tipping us over in the process.

"What the hell, Daryl!" I scolded once we'd reached a steady cruising speed. The road was paved about a quarter mile into the woods and straightened out as the trees started thinning. It seemed like we were headed back to the main highway, but the foliage was still thick enough that I couldn't really tell.

"It was the fastest way to make the decision," he said. He had a point and I wasn't about to argue. We were either on the right road or the wrong one, but that's how it would have been on the others as well. We could only wait to find out.

"Shouldn't we have passed Rick by now?" I asked, positive that no human being could possibly have run this far in that amount of time. Daryl was driving almost sixty miles an hour and we'd barely been on the road for five minutes.

"He coulda found a car," Daryl replied. "Or took another way."

"So we're just gonna keep going this way till we find something?" I asked.

"Unless you can think of something better," he countered.

"God, they have the baby," I thought out loud. "What if they hurt her?"

"Then we better find 'em fast." He obviously wasn't much for comforting thoughts.

We drove in silence for a while, never quite clearing the trees. The whole street seemed like it was leading to a main road, but couldn't actually find it. A few walkers lined the sides, but they weren't much of an obstacle. The few that were in the street were easy enough to swerve around.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" I asked a few minutes later.

"Georgia," he replied. "That's all I know."

"Great," I said.

"Thought you were from around here," he said.

"No," I replied. "I walked here."

"From where?"

"I was moving around the states. It wasn't really a straight line."

"You were just walkin' around the country?"

"Basically."

"How long?"

"Eight months, I think."

Daryl laughed. "That must be some kinda record."

"It wouldn't matter anymore, would it?" I said as more of a statement. Even if I had walked more miles than anyone ever, it wouldn't make the tiniest difference. I had left California a few weeks after losing my entire family and just started walking east. I figured a constant change of scenery would keep me from getting comfortable and losing my mind. The more I had to focus on externally, the less I'd focus on the internal.

"Didn't really matter before, either," he said. I laughed a little at that. I wondered how much or little he'd cared about anything before. I couldn't get a read on him. He was simultaneously incredibly caring and incredibly apathetic. It made my head spin.

"Whoahh," he said slowly, pressing down steadily on the brakes. I looked at the road ahead of us. There was another mob of walkers wandering around. They hadn't seemed to notice us just yet, except for a few stragglers. Daryl brought the van to a full stop and turned off the engine.

"Get down," he said quietly, and slouched down in his seat so far that his head was below the window. I did the same.

"Why don't we get in the back?" I asked, wondering why we weren't making use of our roomy hiding spot behind the front seats.

"We gotta drive outta here fast, I rather be sittin' in the cockpit already," he replied.

I had to bend awkwardly to stay out of view of the walkers. I decided it would be better to just sink all the way to the floor and rest my arms on the seat. As it turned out, there was only enough room for me to slide halfway down. The rest of me had to use the seat and center console as support. It wasn't what I had intended, but at least it was more comfortable this way. Daryl, on the other hand, had used his brain and had reclined the back of his seat all the way down. He was still mostly underneath the steering wheel, but he wasn't bent in any odd ways. I could have done the same, but I was committed to my current position, as getting out of it would prove to be too difficult.

"Shh," Daryl hushed as the first of the walkers approached the van. It didn't see us, just kept dragging its feet past us. Then a few more arrived. With that, the knocking started. It wasn't enough that we were completely still and silent. They could smell us, even through the locked car doors. More and more of them piled on. I was afraid they'd break through the glass.

"How long before they give up?" I whispered.

"Depends who else is walkin' by," Daryl replied.

"We can't drive through them?"

"Too many of 'em."

"We can't even try?" I argued. "We need to find Rick!"

"We'll find him!" he snapped to shut me up. "We just gotta wait."

There was the hatred again. The disdain I felt towards the walkers. It seemed the world had a never ending supply and they were all aimed in our direction. Mindless eating machines that had wasted away to nothing. I glared out the window at them. I could still see the colors in some of their clothes. A lady in pink, a man in green. It was all matted with dirt and blood now, but those were once people in a store trying on those clothes. I was like them. And I hated them more than anything.

A distant thought, one that I'd kept pushed to the back of my mind, flitted out into focus. It made me smile and roll my eyes. Daryl noticed.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"It's my birthday," I replied. "If I've been counting the days right." I was met with silence. Birthdays weren't really a thing of concern anymore. "You wanna know what my biggest fear used to be?"

"A broken nail?" Daryl mumbled.

"Actually, yes. Something like that," I replied, ignoring his subdued sass. "I was a very self-conscious teenager. I thought I'd end up with no friends if I didn't dress right or talk to the right people. If I had any idea what was coming, I would have dropped the nail polish and stocked up on toilet paper and water bottles when I had the chance."

"You sound like the kinda girls that made me hate school," he said. "Musta been a good wake up call for you."

"Knowing what I know now, I hate those girls, too," I replied.

"There's a difference between you and them, though," Daryl said.

"Is there?" I asked.

"You're in here, and they're probably out there chewin' on a scrap of metal. You don't come this far bein' one of them. I probably coulda tolerated you more than them."

"Wow, thanks," I said sarcastically. "What about you?"

"What _about _me?" he said.

"What were you doing before?" I asked.

"Don't matter anymore," he answered. "Just matters what I do now."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So you were either CIA or in jail, am I right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, we'll go with that," he said. "CIA."

Daryl cracked a slightly amused smile as the walkers rocked the van back and forth.

"What?" I asked.

"You ever been that hungry before?" he said, pointing at a walker that had crawled onto the hood of the van and started clawing at the windshield.

"They can't break the glass, can they?" I asked, really starting to get worried now.

"Probably," he said. "I seen 'em do it before."

"So what the hell are we doing just sitting here?" I almost shouted. "If they break through we might not be able to fight them off!"

"You wanna crack a window and start stabbin', be my guest," he said.

"Did you lose your mind or are you just that confident that, like, a deer or something is gonna come running by and lure them away?"

"Bit of both, I think," he replied.

"Where were you, anyway?" I asked. "When the house was burning and everyone else was in the back of that truck. Where were _you_?"

Daryl didn't say anything, just leaned forward and turned the ignition, bringing the engine back to life.

"Daryl," I said. "Where the hell were you when they were being taken?"

"I thought you were still inside," he answered, keeping his eyes on the walkers in front of the van. "I went back in for you."

"Oh," I said. I didn't know what to say. He could have burned to death in that inferno. He must have been on the other side of the house or I would have seen him when I went to check the living room. "I got out okay."

"I know," he mumbled.

"Thanks," I added.

Daryl didn't answer. He pulled his seat back upright and shifted the van into drive as I pulled myself back up onto my own seat. He floored the gas pedal and the van plowed through the rotting corpses with a bit of slow effort.

"Told you we'd make it out," I said when we'd run over the last walker.

"My way woulda worked, too," he said, pointing at a deer that ran past us through the trees. "You're just stubborn."

We drove a few more miles before the van puttered to a halt. Daryl tried to restart the engine, but to no avail.

"Shit," he said. "Out of gas."

"Now what?" I asked.

"We can walk or we can find more gas," he answered. "There should be a town a couple miles down the road from here."

I was hesitant to go back outside, but I knew we didn't have a choice. If we stayed rooted to this spot, we'd be no help to the rest of the group, wherever they were.

"Okay," I finally said. "Let's find more gas."

As we stepped out of the van and started our trek down the highway, I couldn't help but notice how close he walked to me, but always a couple steps ahead. It was almost protective, if I wasn't imagining it. I couldn't think of a better person to be stuck out here with. After all, I was alive because of him.


	6. Comfort

It was dark by the time we made it to the edge of town. This one was quite a bit bigger than the one where we'd found the van. This town had traffic lights and yellow lines painted down the middle of the streets. Buildings went as high as five or six floors, but most stayed at three. We'd been out in the open for so long I felt like I was walking down a hallway instead of a street lined with structures. It made me uncomfortable. Only two ways to run, onward or back, but it was quiet enough that I felt confident we wouldn't have to do much running. Still, we kept our steps light and our voices silent.

We were still only a few blocks into town when Daryl tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the front door of one of the buildings. The decrepit sign hanging above it was barely legible but I could make out the word _sporting. _A sporting goods store. This would have been one of the first places to be ransacked. I doubted there would be much left, but Daryl made his way to the entrance anyway. He wiped away some of the dust and peered through the glass door, then turned back to me and nodded for me to join him.

I was right. The inside of the store looked more like a dump than anything that resembled organization. Among the torn tents and shredded bags were bodies, some of them still growling. They started reaching for us the moment we walked in, but didn't get very far without the essential limbs. A swift kick to the head took them out.

"Daryl, there's nothing in here," I said into the darkness. My flashlight only gave me so much visibility and I didn't want to be stuck in a place I couldn't see if we had to get out. Daryl's light was pointed away from me and I couldn't see him clearly, but it was enough to tell me where he was.

"This way," he said. I followed him to the back of the store and into a storage area. It must have been where they kept everything in stock before it went out on the floor. It was mostly untouched, surprisingly. A few boxes were strewn about, but everything else was still in its proper place. I assumed most people just didn't think to look back here when they were in a hurry to get what they needed and get back out.

The room was about half the size of the store, with rows upon rows of shelves with boxes stacked to the ceiling. Pieces of paper hung from the shelves with a label and a picture of the contents of the boxes above them.

"You gotta be kidding me," I said, shaking my head.

"What?"

"There's no way this was untouched for so long."

"It's gonna stay that way, for now," he said. "We can't carry it all on foot."

"At least we know it's here," I replied. "We should hurry and get the van back here before someone else finds it."

"Who else is gonna find it?"

"Could be anyone," I said. "We found it. Why couldn't someone else?"

Daryl kept walking down one of the rows, examining the labels with his flashlight. I went slowly to the end of another row, all the way to the back wall. There was a window with cheap white blinds that were barely cracked. All I could see were stripes of white and black. I clicked off my flashlight and approached the window. I stuck a finger between two of the slats and pulled one down, bringing my face close to the glass. The moon only gave enough light to wash everything in a dark grey hue. There were no colors anywhere, just shadows. We were at one end of an alley that led out onto a bigger street. A dumpster sat against one wall, filled to the brim with garbage. It was so peaceful outside, like it was midnight on any normal night before the sickness spread. I pictured a girl pulling up her coat around her neck as she hurried home from work. Maybe a stray cat ran by. A homeless man hunkered down in the alley for the night. Those things were all impossible now. Empty as it was, a place like this was not safe.

I stared out into the dim moonlight another moment before the darkness at the end of the alley was sliced by a stream of red and white lights. I blinked, thinking for a moment that it was just my imagination, but the lines left across my vision from the sudden brightness were very real. It was a car driving by, and that meant we weren't alone.

"Daryl!" I hissed. He rounded the end of the row he'd been searching, his flashlight still blaring. "Turn that off!"

"Why?" he whispered as he killed the light.

"There's someone out there," I said. "A car just drove by."

He went straight to the window and peeked out. "We'll be fine in here," he said. "If they come around we just lock ourselves in and get out this window."

"What if it's them?" I asked. "What if Rick is with them? Shouldn't we find out who they are?"

"Yeah," he replied. "But we should wait till morning. Ain't no use tryin' to follow if we can't see worth a damn."

I nodded my agreement and dropped my bag to the floor. I rolled my stiff shoulders, glad for a moment of relief without the weight pulling me down. Daryl went to the door and slid the lock into place.

I undid the holsters for my knife and machete from my belt and set them down beside my bag. If we were gonna camp out in a storage room for the night I might as well be comfortable. I sat down, using my bag as a pillow against the wall, and squirmed around to really settle in. I let my head fall back against the wall and took and deep breath. I'd been so wound up the whole day that my heart hadn't slowed down for a single beat until now.

Daryl dropped a small package in my lap and sat down beside me. I picked it up and shone my light on it.

"That shit don't expire," he said as he opened his own pack. It was something light and freeze dried, but I didn't really wanna know what it was supposed to be. I tore open the pack and pulled out the lump of what felt like coal. I sunk my teeth into it. I was far too hungry to be picky. It was dry and dusty and mostly tasteless, but it was better than nothing.

Daryl was busy munching on his own tasty meal. He looked down at the wrapper. "This says eggs and bacon, but as far as I'm concerned, it's a steak and mashed potatoes," he said. "Sure as hell don't taste like eggs and bacon."

"I think mine's supposed to be fried chicken," I said. "I would love some real, freshly fried chicken right about now."

"And some beer," he added.

"And a hot shower. God, I'd love a hot shower," I said.

We finished our makeshift dinners without worries of anything outside. There was no point. Whoever was in that car, we'd have a better chance of finding out in broad daylight and this was as good a place to get some sleep as any. After all, we weren't about to hike all the way back to the van.

Daryl took a swig from his canteen and handed it to me. The water was stale and warm, but it soothed my dry throat. I didn't realize how thirsty I'd been this whole time, but I only let myself take a few sips before handing it back to him.

"Thanks," I said.

"Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

"When are you gonna sleep?" I asked as I settled further down against my bag, stretching my legs out below me.

"When I need to."

"Wake me up in two hours," I said. He nodded and I closed my eyes.

It was difficult to keep my eyelids shut. Every time I tried to fully relax, they wanted to jump back open. I wasn't tired. Not in the least bit. I slid all the way down so I was fully horizontal on the floor and rested my arm over my eyes to keep them shut. After a few minutes, my shoulder started going numb. This was impossible.

"I'm not tired," I said as I pushed myself back to a sitting position. "You sleep first."

"Not tired either," he replied. "Just rest, it's better than nothing."

I laid back down on my side and curled my knees up toward my chest. Daryl must have been getting uncomfortable on the hard floor, so he laid down, too, resting his head on his bag. He stared up at the ceiling. I tried not to look at him, sure he could feel me staring. Again. I looked instead at his arm. The bandage around it was dirty and starting to rip. He scratched at it absentmindedly.

"Stop that," I scolded and swatted his hand away. He obeyed, but didn't say anything. "How's it feeling?"

"It itches," he replied.

"That's good," I said. "Don't scratch it or you could open it up again."

"I've been scratchin' it and I haven't bled out yet," he said.

"Let me see." I grabbed his wrist and held my light over the bandage. There were small blood stains from where the wounds had bled through, but they weren't fresh. He was lucky he hadn't scratched hard enough. I let go of his wrist and clicked my light off. "No more scratching," I commanded.

"Yes, sir," he sassed.

I smiled. He didn't always let on, but somewhere in that shut in mind of his, Daryl was a completely different person than the one I knew. I didn't want to imagine who that person might be and risk being disappointed later on, but something told me we were a lot more alike than I'd thought.

"Can I ask you something and actually get an honest answer out of you?" I asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

"Depends what the question is," he replied.

That didn't sound promising. "Do you get scared?" I inquired. "And I don't mean when you're trying to avoid walkers or other people. I mean…what do you think is gonna happen next? When this all ends?"

Daryl thought for a moment, probably considering whether or not to make a vague remark and be done with it. To my surprise, he turned on his side to face me. "Yes," he said. "But I don't let it control what I do. And to answer your other question, I don't think this is gonna end for a long time so it's not really something I bother about."

"Bother about it now," I pleaded. "I need to know what you think so I can stop playing my own scenario over and over in my head."

"What's your scenario?"

"I asked you first."

Daryl exhaled slowly. He had been telling the truth when he said he'd never thought about it. I could see him thinking now.

"Let's say all the walkers drop dead right now," he started. "We got nothin' to go back to. I don't think there's more than a thousand people alive in the country and there's no way the rest of the world isn't just as bad. I think we'll try to rebuild but it won't be the same. We'll be back in the stone age with what little people we got."

"Thank you," I said after another long silence. "That helped."

"What were you thinkin'?" he asked.

"That this would never end as long as there were children being born and people getting bit. Endless cycle, you know?"

"There's more walkers gettin' killed than children bein' born," he said. "Sooner or later someone'll kill the last damn rotter and it'll be over."

"You're more optimistic than I thought," I confessed. "To be honest, I thought you were gonna tell me exactly what I've been thinking."

"What's the point of tryin' to survive if that's what you're thinkin'?"

"I don't know," I said. "I just don't wanna die."

"That ain't gonna happen. I seen the way you fight," he said.

"Aren't you glad you almost ran me over?" I replied, holding back a smile.

"I still can't figure out how you didn't hear it comin'."

"I was running for my life. I wasn't hearing anything."

"You're just lucky I saw you."

We laid there in silence for another long moment. It was a cozy silence this time, not like the desolate ones that reminded me of death and stillness. A lock of hair from his bangs was hanging in his eyes and something possessed me to reach out and brush it out of the way with my fingertips. The touch of him made me dizzy, light as it was. I didn't remove my hand. Instead I let it touch the rest of his face, his cheek, his jaw, and he let me. His skin was rough, buried under a layer of dirt and sweat, but it was the softest thing my hands had touched in a long time. The skin around his left eye was darkening from where I'd hit him earlier that day. He was in rough shape, but he never let it show. I admired him for it.

I brought my hand back up to his cheek, this time resting my whole palm against it. He closed his eyes and turned his face slightly toward my hand. I was feeling warm and my heart was beating hard but slow. He looked so tired. He needed sleep more than I did.

"Go to sleep," I said quietly as I lightly pinched his chin and moved my hand away. "I'll stay up."

He opened his eyes for a moment to look at me. I could see the exhaustion more clearly than anything else. When he closed them again, he didn't move an inch to get more comfortable or rearrange his bag under his head. He must have knocked right out. If anyone deserved a few hours of undisturbed sleep, it was him. It took everything in my power not to reach out and touch him again, so I just lay there and rested, clearing my mind and trying not to over think the fact that he'd let me completely invade his personal space.


End file.
